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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30101820">put a blue ribbon on my brain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/napricot/pseuds/napricot'>napricot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>best laid plans [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Coworkers to Partners to Lovers, Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Tender Railing, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV) Trailers, Vibrators</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:08:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30101820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/napricot/pseuds/napricot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Things go better with actual plans,” insists Bucky.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hmm, do they though?” asks Sam.</i>
</p><p>Bucky shows Sam some of the sexy benefits of thorough planning. Sam catches on, eventually.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>best laid plans [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208390</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>972</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>put a blue ribbon on my brain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just imagine me flopping across the finish line, out of breath as I race to beat TFATWS show from airing and jossing all my shit! Anyway, no real spoilers for the show here outside of what we've seen in trailers, and I'm probably a mere two days from this being rendered AU. OH WELL. Please enjoy 12k of porn!</p><p>While this is technically a sequel to "baby you're the wave and I'm ready for the crash", all you really need to know from that fic is that Sam and Bucky have already had some ill-advised but fun semi-public sex while on a mission.</p><p>Title from The National's "Slow Show."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you literally <em>ever </em>have a plan? You’re still alive, so I guess you must have at some point,” says Bucky. This rant doesn’t particularly seem to need any input from Sam to keep going, so Bucky continues, “You know that Captain America is <em>literally </em>supposed to be the Man with a Plan, right? Like, there’s a whole damn song about it.”</p><p>Bucky’s gone full murderstrut thanks to his snit fit, and assorted SHIELD employees are scattering in abject terror. Which, seriously, Sam knows SHIELD’s just getting off the ground again after the Blip and all, but shouldn’t they be made of sterner stuff than this? Sam gives one particularly wide-eyed agent a disappointed glare, and she smiles not all that apologetically before power-walking away.</p><p>As nice as it is to finally be more or less on the right side of the law, giving Fury a personal report of their latest mission isn’t Sam’s favorite activity ever. He’s definitely feeling some called to the principal’s office vibes right now, not that he’ll admit any trepidation to Bucky.</p><p>Anyway, reporting to Fury or not, he’s still riding high on the mission’s success. Even if Fury reams them out, Sam will know they did the right thing, and that they did their best. The mission was a success, dammit. Fury can’t quibble with their results, surely.</p><p>“I mean, that song <em>was</em> propaganda, Bucky,” says Sam, unable to stop grinning despite Bucky’s grumpy rage. “And hey, I <em>did </em>have a plan! And it worked out just fine!”</p><p>Bucky stops in the middle of the hallway and wheels on Sam. He looks mussed and windblown in a way that has Sam thinking decidedly inappropriate thoughts. Sam should probably be at least a little put off by the icy anger in Bucky’s eyes, or the stern and furious set of his face, but he’s kinda mostly just thinking that Bucky looks hot. They haven’t defined this thing they have going where they fuck sometimes, and mostly it doesn’t impact their work. Every so often, Sam is reminded of it though, like now, when he’s thinking that he’d like to take a break and give Bucky a more fun reason to be looking so disheveled.</p><p>Behind Bucky, a SHIELD employee creeps along, his back to the wall, before he escapes into what Sam knows for a fact is a supply closet.</p><p>“Really. And when, exactly, did you come up with this ‘<em>plan</em>’?” asks Bucky. Sam had not previously been aware that you could make finger quotes look actively threatening, but Bucky is really pulling it off. “Was it before or after you threw us out of the truck full of explosive devices as it was going over a bridge?”</p><p>“Definitely before then. Also, that truck full of bombs did <em>not</em> end up blowing up a stadium full of soccer fans, and it’s not like we had time for a whole detailed plan, Buck.”</p><p>One of the few SHIELD agents who hasn’t fled for less terrifying climes gasps. Somewhere, someone whispers <em>oh my god the new Captain America is gonna get murdered by the Winter Soldier</em>. Geeze, what is the deal with Bucky’s rep around here? Sam’s <em>been</em> nearly murdered by the Winter Soldier—multiple times, even—so he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s dealing with plain old Bucky Barnes right now, whose admittedly voluble and lengthy bark, is far, far worse than his bite.</p><p>“You are <em>still </em>not allowed to call me that. And we had <em>other options</em>,” grits out Bucky. “If you’d listened to me and just taken, like, two minutes to come up with a real plan, we could’ve avoided getting nearly blown up and the whole truck full of explosives falling into the harbor situation. A plan like you distracting the driver while I set up my shots to take the tires out and get that truck stopped somewhere safe.”</p><p>“That...could’ve worked, yeah,” admits Sam. “But we were short on time and my plan worked out too, the Thanos cultists didn’t blow up a stadium!” He steps closer to Bucky, puts a hand on his arm. A nearby SHIELD agent squeaks. “Hey, everything worked out okay, right? We’re both fine, everyone’s fine.”</p><p>“Everything worked out okay<em> this</em> time,” says Bucky.</p><p>While his tone is dark, some of the tension in him drains out, and he turns and starts walking again, his stride back to its usual <em>life is a catwalk</em> ease rather than the terror-inducing murderstrut. Sam walks alongside him, and bumps his shoulder companionably, a gesture Bucky accepts with a cute little huff.</p><p>“Listen, I’m not happy we got thrown into that situation with so little intel either,” says Sam, making sure his voice carries, because he wants his displeasure about that particular failure of intel known. “We should’ve had more than an hour’s notice of a credible terrorist attack, those cultists have probably been planning that shit on their creepy message boards for weeks. But we handled it, with no casualties. This one is a win, Buck.”</p><p>“Sure,” Bucky says. “But you still need to come up with better plans than literally throwing us at the problem.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s been working for us so far!”</p><p>“Things go better with actual plans,” insists Bucky.</p><p>“Hmm, do they though?” asks Sam, because in his experience, when the shit hits the fan, there’s never much time for the kind of in-depth planning Bucky prefers. Sam was pararescue: sure, sometimes they’d had the time and ability to plan out a rescue or an extraction, but most of the time, Sam was in the air while the bombs were still flying. “We gotta be ready to work on the fly, adapt to the situation at hand. But hey, I understand that detailed plans make you feel better on account of your trauma and your understandable control issues, and I hear your concerns.”</p><p>“My <em>control issues</em>,” Bucky repeats, his voice flat and icy, before he stops in the middle of the hallway again, and stares at Sam with incredulous annoyance. “Are you trying to <em>peer counsel</em> me right now?”</p><p>“Do you <em>need</em> peer counseling?” asks Sam, grinning when Bucky’s expression goes full grumpy cat. “And no, I’m not, this is just me being an understanding partner!”</p><p>“Oh, of course,” Bucky says, all cranky eyebrows and scowling, pouty mouth as he studies Sam with narrowed eyes. Then, worryingly, Bucky’s expression smoothes out, his eyes going all big and earnest and very, very blue. Forget about the Winter Soldier murder glare, <em>this</em> is the look that most flusters and alarms Sam. “Well, in that case, thanks, partner. I really appreciate it.”</p><p>“Uh, you’re welcome,” Sam tells him, and Bucky smiles, too bright and shiny to be sincere.</p><p>Just before Bucky turns to keep walking, Sam catches a distinctly dangerous glint of mischief in his eyes, and when he glances sideways at Bucky, there’s the slightest curve to his lips that’s frankly extremely concerning.</p><p>Oh well, too late to backtrack now. Sam will learn whatever revenge Bucky has in store for him sooner or later. And wait a minute, did Bucky just cosign upgrading them from “coworkers” to “partners”? Maybe Bucky’s just fucking with him, but too bad, no take backs. The win has Sam walking into Fury’s office with a grin.</p>
<hr/><p>Fury doesn’t end up reaming them out, he just sighs heavily at them and gives them a new mission to prep for. It’s nothing they need to be sent out for right away, so they spend the next few days on the usual between-mission activities of training, paperwork, meetings, and intel analysis.</p><p>The relative downtime has made Bucky unclench a little, at least, because he can plan to his heart’s content, complete with a whole enormous cork board/whiteboard that takes up most of the space in his office. Sam wants to call it a wall of crazy, but it’s too well-organized for that, all color-coded and with neat portions of the board assigned to separate aspects of mission-planning. Bucky takes a photo of it every single day, because god forbid anyone re-position even a single sticky note or photo on the damn thing.</p><p>Anyway, Sam <em>does</em> still feel a tiny bit bad about stressing Bucky out with mid-mission improvisational planning, so when Bucky asks Sam to dig through the records room with him for some mission-related research, Sam only complains a little before going with him. They get in the elevator together, and some SHIELD tech immediately darts right out of it just as the doors are closing. Sam frowns after him, but seeing that the button Bucky just pushed for the records room floor is located approximately first-circle-of-hell deep, he figures that’s why.</p><p>“And these records aren’t digitized? You’d think SHIELD would be ready to go fully paperless by now,” says Sam, and Bucky shrugs.</p><p>“There’s some stuff that’s too delicate or too classified to be digitized. And electronic records can be hacked or easily altered. Always better to check the source, if you can.”</p><p>“You’re just a nerd who likes research,” teases Sam. “I see how it is.”</p><p>Bucky gives him a half-hearted glare as the elevator continues to travel down. “I like to have an actual, detailed plan. That’s not nerdy, that’s just common sense, and survival instinct. How the hell do you think I avoided HYDRA <em>and </em>you and Steve for two years?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” says Sam and lets it go.</p><p>Sam’s happy to gently rib Bucky about his control issues, but seriously, he <em>is</em> still a peer counselor. He fully understands why Bucky needs a certain level of control over his life and his work, and there are far, far worse coping mechanisms than a slightly obsessive focus on research. So Sam will be a supportive partner and show that he is in fact willing to plan shit, even if that planning involves rooting around in dusty old records deep in the bowels of SHIELD HQ.</p><p>After they use their credentials to get past the heavily secured door, Bucky leads Sam deeper into the records room with a confidence that suggests he’s been down here before. At least, Sam sure hopes Bucky’s been down here before, because Sam got kind of turned around about three turns ago. All the damn aisles look the same.</p><p>“Do we need to, like, sign in with anyone, or ask someone to pull records for us?” Sam asks.</p><p>“The records clerk is on her lunch break, and she takes really long lunch breaks,” says Bucky, and after one last turn, directs Sam to the last aisle with a light hand on Sam’s back, until he stops them in front of an unremarkable shelf.</p><p>Sam’s about to examine the shelf for these records they allegedly need when Bucky gently positions Sam so his back is against the shelf, and then, after one intense and appraising look, Bucky kisses him. Sam should probably push him away, insist that they’re on the job and that this is inappropriate and what the hell, did Bucky bring him down here just to make out, surely they could’ve done that in a supply closet upstairs, or hell, in Bucky’s office, but Bucky’s such a goddamn 0 to 60 kisser that Sam can’t bring himself to stop Bucky.</p><p>There’s no sweet or tentative build up here, no, Bucky’s just all in from the start, deep and dirty and devouring until Sam’s gasping. And fuck, Bucky’s pressing him up against the shelf so that there’s no space between their bodies, and Sam maybe has a certain automatic reaction to that, after that time they fucked in the club bathroom. His cock is already filling up, his hips straining to thrust against Bucky as they kiss and kiss, their lips and tongues sliding wet and hot against each other.</p><p>Once Sam’s caught his breath a little, he hisses, “Bucky, what the <em>hell</em>—”</p><p>Bucky just answers him with another kiss, his hands already moving down to Sam’s fly, nimbly undoing the button and pulling down the zipper.</p><p>“Wait, what—are we down here because you want to give me a <em>blowjob</em>?” whispers Sam.</p><p>Bucky, who’s already getting down on his knees, looks up at Sam from under his lashes, wicked and coy and, fuck, still with every bit of the same intense focus he brings to missions.</p><p>“You got any objections?” he asks, not bothering to keep his voice low as he pulls Sam’s pants down.</p><p>He leaves Sam’s boxer briefs alone at first, and just, like, nuzzles against Sam’s hardening cock, his breath hot through the fabric as he hums, seemingly happy to see Sam’s cock already hard and straining. The sound vibrates against Sam’s already sensitive cock and he shivers and moans, helpless. Bucky’s still maintaining eye contact, his eyes shadowed by his long and pretty lashes. This is the cue for all of the rational thought in Sam’s brain to sizzle into steam, like a drop of water on a hot pan, gone in one searing flash.</p><p>“Oh fuck—anyone could walk in, Jesus—”</p><p>“Yeah Sam, that’s kind of the point,” says Bucky with a smirk, and then he pulls Sam’s underwear down enough to free his cock.</p><p>And oh, Sam really should pull the parachute cord and stop them from crashing into some real bad decisions sex, but fuck, he doesn’t want to, not yet. The fall is too damn thrilling. And hell, Sam’s always preferred his wings to a parachute: with the wings, he can pull out of a dive in the last seconds before impact.</p><p>Given the pace of Bucky’s kisses earlier, Sam expects the blow job to go with similarly brutal speed, Bucky swallowing him down and taking him deep, but no, Bucky apparently intends to take his time and really get acquainted with Sam’s cock. What Sam wants, desperately, is to fuck into the tight heat of Bucky’s mouth, but Bucky’s hands on Sam’s hips hold them inexorably still as Bucky sucks and licks and teases, so Sam can’t do much other than get a grip on Bucky’s thick hair and try to keep quiet.</p><p>Sam’s pretty sure the records room is empty, but what if it’s not, what if there’s someone walking through the aisles just about to walk in on them—it should really tilt this over from incredibly hot to a really bad idea, but Sam’s a thrill-seeker, he always has been. He just hasn’t had much occasion to indulge in this particular thrill in a long-ass time, and there’s a difference between seedy and dirtyhot club bathroom blow jobs and this, Bucky lavishing devoted attention to Sam’s cock like they’ve got all the time in the world, like this is a bedroom and not a public place.</p><p>After one particularly devious swirl of Bucky’s tongue makes Sam clap a hand over his own mouth to stifle a moan, Bucky pulls off and looks up at him, bright and vicious satisfaction in the gleam of his eyes.</p><p>“Thought you liked to put on a show, sweetheart. Don’t keep quiet now on my account,” he says, and every goddamn nerve ending in Sam’s body flares hot, a supernova of being turned on.</p><p>“Motherfucker, we are <em>at work</em>, in the records room, in <em>public</em>—” Sam hisses.</p><p>Bucky’s eyes narrow, and he grins. “Like that doesn’t get you hot,” he teases, and then he turns his attention back to Sam’s cock, and swallows him down deep, the goddamn showoff.</p><p>Sam tries to keep quiet, he really fucking does, but the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth is just too much, and Bucky keeps giving him too much pressure and not enough, so Sam moans, loud in the heavy silence of the underground records room, and he can’t quite help the <em>please</em> that follows either. On hearing Sam, Bucky hums a sweetly torturous vibration around Sam’s cock, and takes Sam impossibly deeper, and that’s it, Sam’s a goner, too far gone into the free fall of orgasm to give Bucky any kind of polite warning so he can pull off. Not that Bucky seems to mind: he moans as Sam spills down his throat, and the sound wrings one more shivering spasm of spine-melting pleasure from Sam.</p><p>He’s glad to be leaning against the shelves then, and lets them support him as he catches his breath. In the meantime, Bucky rises to his feet again with easy grace, and he looks a sight with mussed hair and slick red lips and a pretty pink flush, his eyes dark and avid on Sam. Sam takes a moment to appreciate it, though he only gets a brief moment, because soon enough Bucky is briskly getting Sam’s clothes back in order. Sam, oddly charmed, lets him, then kisses him as a thank you.</p><p>“I’d offer to help you out with that situation,” says Sam, nodding towards the delightful sight of Bucky’s cock straining against his pants. “But I feel like we’ve pushed our luck enough.”</p><p>Bucky tilts his head and smiles, a disconcertingly sweet expression with the way his eyes crease up.</p><p>“Really? Seems to me like you’re chickening out there,” he says, and shit, the low rasp in Bucky’s usually smooth and languid voice is sexier than it’s got any right to be. Maybe because Sam knows that it was his cock that put that roughness there.</p><p>Then his brain catches up to what Bucky just said.</p><p>“What? No, just, someone could come in any time—“</p><p>“Gonna have to stop calling you the Falcon and start calling you the Chicken—“</p><p>“Real mature there, Barnes—“</p><p>“—which is gonna require an update to your branding—“</p><p>Sam grabs Bucky and pulls him in close to shut him up with another kiss, nipping just a little vengefully at his plush lower lip. He pushes off the shelf, and turns them so Bucky’s got his back up against the shelf now. Sam is an adult and a superhero and a professional, he really shouldn’t let Bucky’s schoolyard taunt goad him into yet more acts that could get them a stern reprimand from HR at best and a citation for public indecency at worst. But there’s a bright spark of challenge in Bucky’s eyes and he’s leaning against the shelf with his head tipped back at an infuriatingly cocky and self-satisfied angle, and Sam cannot let this stand.</p><p>“Fine,” says Sam, his hands already working to get Bucky’s pants pulled down. “But if we end up getting caught, our cover story is that some weird artifact in here made us so horny we had to fuck.”</p><p>Bucky snorts. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>Once Sam has Bucky’s pants pulled down enough, he kneels, and hides a grin at the sight of Bucky’s black boxer briefs, which he knows for a fact are tight and short enough to show off Bucky’s cute little ass. Sam gives said ass a fond squeeze before pulling Bucky’s cock out.</p><p>“Oh, you really need this, huh,” says Sam, and takes a moment to admire the sight of Bucky’s cock, thick and hard and already leaking precome, and so, so hot in Sam’s hand.</p><p>“If you’re so worried about getting caught, maybe you should hurry this up a little,” says Bucky, his voice gone lower still.</p><p>“That’s rich coming from the guy who came in his pants the first time we fucked,” Sam says, and gives Bucky’s cock a couple of hello-there strokes, pleased when he feels the sudden tension in Bucky’s body, the proof that he’s trying hard to keep his cool and not thrust into Sam’s hand.</p><p>Sam likes giving Bucky shit about his speedy finish that time in the club bathroom, but the truth is, he kind of loves how responsive Bucky is, how easily his body gives into pleasure. Bucky’s usually so stone-faced and grumpy that it’s a hell of a rush to see him let loose even a little, and it’s even more of an addictive rush to know that Sam’s the one who can make him.</p><p>Before he takes Bucky’s cock in his mouth, he looks up at Bucky with a grin. “Or was coming in your pants part of the plan too?”</p><p>Bucky swears then sighs as Sam swallows him down, and Sam closes his eyes and takes a moment to get acquainted with Bucky’s cock, the faintly salty taste, the smoothness of his skin against Sam’s lips and tongue. The muscles of Bucky’s thighs are taut and tense under Sam’s hands, but even so, Bucky’s flesh hand on Sam’s shoulder grips him carefully, and he’s not thrusting into Sam’s mouth. He’s letting Sam set the pace, so Sam does, with the aim of getting Bucky to come fast; not just to avoid them getting walked in on, but to prove to Bucky that he can.</p><p>“Oh, <em>now</em> you’re in a hurry, huh?” says Bucky, and the breathy rasp of his voice is absurdly sexy. He moves his hand from Sam’s shoulder to cup Sam’s face. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’re not gonna be interrupted. I planned this out, you know?”</p><p>Of fucking course he did. Sam glares up at Bucky and gives his cock a vengeful kind of suck that makes Bucky gasp.</p><p>“Made sure the file clerk would be on her lunch break—and she’s having lunch with her best friend in accounting, so she’s gonna be a while—and I checked the log of records requests too, made sure no one else was gonna be coming down here.”</p><p>This shouldn’t be hot. <em>Why is it hot</em>. But fuck, the idea that Bucky <em>planned this out</em>, just like a mission, putting all that Winter Soldier focus to work on giving Sam a blow job in a more or less public place…it’s a lot to handle when he’s got a mouth full of Bucky’s cock.</p><p>Bucky’s still talking, far chattier during sex than he ever is otherwise, though his voice is getting rough.</p><p>“I scoped out the room too. Did you know, this is the single security camera blind spot in the whole place?”</p><p>Sam freezes mid-suck. <em>Fuck</em>. <em>Security cameras</em>, how could he not have remembered—</p><p>“Aww, you didn’t even realize. That’s dumb as hell, Wilson. Some guy in security might’ve been getting a hell of a show. But don’t worry, like I said: this is a blind spot. Or maybe do worry. Would you be into that, being on camera? God knows you look good enough to be, especially like this.”</p><p>There’s no way Sam’s getting it up again any time soon, but even so, his whole damn body flushes hot, a little embarrassed by how into the possibility of being seen he is. He should stop, he really should, only the possibility that this is getting caught on SHIELD’s security footage—well, it’s not making this whole experience <em>less</em> hot, unfortunately. Sam doesn’t think he’s an exhibitionist, per se. He just likes the potential of getting caught, maybe, the thrill that’s reminiscent of courting disaster in the air and pulling off a perfect maneuver instead.</p><p>So instead of stopping and demanding they do this somewhere less likely to have them making an inadvertent sex tape, Sam takes Bucky’s cock deeper, damn near hungry for it. His jaw is starting to ache around Bucky’s girth, things are getting decidedly wet and sloppy, and Sam doesn’t care. Bucky is still so hard his cock is practically pulsing with it, and yet he still hasn’t come, and instead he just keeps talking, and Sam can’t even say anything back because his mouth is busy.</p><p>Which is probably part of Bucky’s whole plan, <em>motherfucker.</em></p><p>“You know, at first I wanted to do this in the locker room showers,” says Bucky. “You ever jerked off in there? ‘Cause I have. Goddamn super soldier metabolism has finally hit my libido, it’s kinda annoying. Anyway, I thought: fucking you in the locker room. Or you fucking me, I’m not picky.”</p><p>Oh lord Jesus, just the mental image has Sam moaning with embarrassing fervor. Also, way to make every time they’re in the locker room together even more loaded with sexual tension and innuendo. At least the potential scenario there is affecting Bucky too, judging by the way his hips are finally starting to move, shallow little thrusts that are downright considerate, but shit, Sam’s not here for a <em>polite</em> blow job. He shifts his hands, seeking skin to skin contact with Bucky’s hips, his ass, and looks up at him, chasing eye contact as he licks and sucks hard.</p><p>When their eyes meet, Bucky brings a hand to Sam’s cheek, all the gentleness in his touch at odds with the hectic intensity in his eyes.</p><p>“Look at you,” Bucky breathes out, a near-rumble in his wrecked voice now, and Sam groans just to hear it, and then finally Bucky’s spilling into his mouth, hot and salty.</p><p>Sam takes it, not letting up even a little bit as his throat works, keeping his eyes on Bucky so he sees it when Bucky finally throws his head back and pants and moans, still coming into Sam’s mouth. When he’s finished, Sam pulls off with a sense of odd triumph that only deepens when Bucky tugs him up for a kiss. They chase the taste of each other in their mouths, all sloppy sweeps of tongue and bruised lips, their stubble scraping against each other with a shiver-inducing rasp, and it’s almost enough to have Sam wanting more, wanting another round. Maybe they could try the locker room thing later…</p><p>Something beeps, and Sam startles, but Bucky doesn’t seem concerned. He gives Sam one more kiss, then starts to shimmy his pants back up.</p><p>“That’s our five-minute warning,” he says, matter-of-fact.</p><p>After a couple disbelieving false starts, Sam clears his throat and says, “You set an<em> alarm</em> for our illicit public sex liaison.”</p><p>Bucky raises his eyebrows in a <em>duh </em>expression.</p><p>“Yeah, of course I did. Listen, the possibility of getting caught is hot and all, and I don’t know about you, but I do <em>not</em> need the HR reprimand about inappropriate workplace fraternization, and mandatory therapy sessions about appropriate boundaries or what the fuck ever if we actually got caught.”</p><p>Bucky tidies up his hair with some quick finger combing, then he digs around in his pocket for a bit and pulls out—is that a handkerchief? Before Sam can even make fun of him for such an old-man habit, Bucky is briskly wiping Sam’s face clean.</p><p>“What a gentleman,” says Sam, aiming for sarcastic, but shit, this <em>is</em> gentlemanly, so he adds a faintly bewildered, “Thanks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” says Bucky with a smile, sweet and genuine this time rather than wicked.</p><p>And then he takes a neat side step and starts striding down the records aisle, the loose and easy sway of his hips the only real evidence of the two spectacular orgasms they just shared. Sam scrambles to follow after him, hoping their exit from the security camera blind spot looks normal and not like they just had sex.</p><p>“Did we even need to come all the way down here? We couldn’t have done this in a supply closet or break room or some shit?”</p><p>It’s a half-hearted gripe, because Sam’s still kind of blissed out and buzzing from the, dammit, really good sex.</p><p>Bucky glances back at Sam with a raised eyebrow. “No, I really did need some files from down here,” he says, and jogs a couple rows over before darting into one of the aisles. After a minute, he returns with a whole box full of file folders. “We’re gonna have to go through all of these today.”</p><p>“I hate you so much.”</p>
<hr/><p>Sam may or may not spend the next two weeks using his and Bucky’s little illicit public sex liaison, and the too-tempting scenario of fucking in the SHIELD locker room showers, as jerk off material. To Sam’s mild disappointment, there are no repeat performances from Bucky. They usually hook up on an irregular, undefined schedule, as the mood or convenience strikes them, and with both of them busy with mission prep and training, they don’t have any opportunities.</p><p>Still, despite the haze of lust, Sam remembers Bucky’s comment about his libido and supersoldier metabolism, and he can’t help but wonder how Bucky’s handling it. Sometimes your sex drive just fucks off and disappears after trauma or major life changes, and Bucky’s had plenty of those. So has Sam. After he got discharged, he went a whole three months before he’d even noticed that his sex drive was totally AWOL, and then another few months after that before he could even work up the desire to do anything about it. And when he had...well, his sister calls those his manwhore days for a reason.</p><p>Anyway, Sam’s in a more stable place now, but he remembers what it felt like when he wasn’t, and he’d like to spare Bucky that, if he can. Even if they’re just frenemy coworker-partners or whatever, he doesn’t like the thought of Bucky having meaningless sex with strangers when he could be having fun, mildly antagonistic, and stress-relieving sex with Sam.</p><p>So after a long night of reviewing boring security footage and a dinner of takeout in Sam’s apartment, Sam selflessly and dutifully offers Bucky a friendly handjob, and they fool around right there on Sam’s couch, lazy and unhurried. After, Bucky disentangles himself from Sam and heaves himself off the couch, gathering up his stuff to leave. Sam almost offers to let him stay, because it’s late, and they’re both just gonna be back at SHIELD HQ in a few hours.</p><p>“Thanks for dinner,” says Bucky, and Sam raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“But no thanks for the handjob?”</p><p>Bucky grins. “Thanks for that too.”</p><p>Sam makes a vague and magnanimous gesture with his hand and says, “Any time.”</p><p>Bucky doesn’t take him up on the implied offer in the next couple of weeks, which is fine, because they really are swamped with work by then, ramping up for the latest mission to preempt the potential merger of a cell of Thanos cultists and the dregs of HYDRA. They’ve prepped extensively, which Bucky is quietly thrilled about judging by the absence of his deepest forehead furrow of aggravation. The mission itself is just a matter of gathering more intel and taking out a couple key players who might have their hands on dangerous alien tech, before the Feds sweep in to mop up the rest.</p><p>Unfortunately, Sam and Bucky have to spend most of the mission split up, with Sam tackling the HYDRA end of things and Bucky the Thanos cultists, because otherwise they might blow their covers what with HYDRA always being on the lookout for an enraged dude with a metal arm and a decades-long grudge. On the plus side, split up or no, the mission’s a breeze. Sam expresses some suspicion about just how easy it was when he calls Bucky for their check-in.</p><p>“Was it just me, or was that too easy?”</p><p>“It was easy because we did all that planning and prepared properly, Wilson,” says Bucky with smug satisfaction.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” grouses Sam. “You sure we can’t just bust up the rest of these guys on our own? At least then I won’t have to spend the night watching weirdly dark sitcoms.”</p><p>Sam’s usual stuck in a hotel room activity is to watch tv, but shows during the Blip had gotten real weird and real dark, even the sitcoms, and Sam does not need that right now, thanks.</p><p>“Oh well, if you’re <em>bored</em>, then yeah, sure, let’s go mount a two-man assault on some cultists.”</p><p>“No need to be rude,” says Sam, then turns the tv off with a sigh. “We could’ve just shared a room, you know, then we could’ve at least passed the time with sex.”</p><p>But no, Bucky just had to insist on separate rooms on opposite ends of town, for the sake of maintaining their covers.</p><p>“Who says we can’t still pass the time with sex?”</p><p>“Oh ho ho, are you suggesting phone sex, Barnes? How do you even know what that is?”</p><p>“It’s not exactly a complicated concept,” says Bucky, his tone desert dry. “And check your bag, at the bottom.”</p><p>Sam’s hand spasms where it’s gripping the phone to his ear. “What?”</p><p>“Your duffel bag, Sam.”</p><p>“Did you put something in my bag?” demands Sam, and scrambles to check his duffel bag, still mostly full.</p><p>Sure enough, at the bottom of the bag, under his extra socks and a sweater, are a few things Sam did not put there himself. Sam pulls one of them out, half-expecting a weapon of some kind, but no: it’s a dildo, of fairly hefty size but otherwise tasteful, as sex toys go, more or less realistic and made of a dark gray colored silicone. The other item is smaller and Sam can’t quite place what it is for a moment, confused by the bright blue color and the curvy shape, before he realizes: it’s probably a butt plug, or maybe a vibrator. There are also a few small bottles of lube. Sam can’t decide if that’s thoughtful or infuriatingly presumptuous.</p><p>“Barnes, I went through airport security with this shit in my bag! What if the TSA had pulled it out? Oh my god, what the hell.”</p><p>“It’s fine, it’s a good cover. No one’s gonna look too closely at the rest of your shit after they find a sex toy. Which is good because I also stuck some extra knives in there. You can never have enough knives.”</p><p>“When did you even—why did you—”</p><p>“So, is that a <em>no</em> on the phone sex with the sex toys I helpfully provided for you, or…?”</p><p>Bucky sounds downright casual, like this is all totally normal, like he has not just presented Sam with sex toys to use for phone sex purposes. Sex toys that he snuck into Sam’s bag. Sam’s dick twitches with interest, and his eyes keep being drawn back to that butt plug. It has a flared base, and it’s not so big that it’ll be uncomfortable to work in after some prep, but it’s big enough to be satisfying, and probably big enough to get close to Sam’s prostate. Sam squirms just imagining it.</p><p>“James Buchanan Barnes, you kinky motherfucker.”</p><p>“The plug vibrates, just so you know. The future is so great. Also, did you know there are Avengers-themed sex toys? Those can’t be officially licensed, can they?”</p><p>“<em>Oh my go</em>d.” He looks at the butt plug. “Wait, it vibrates?”</p><p>“Yeah, there are buttons on the base. It’s got, like, three different speeds, and ten different pulsation patterns, you just have to keep pushing that one button.”</p><p>“Did you <em>test this out</em>?” asks Sam, feeling a little faint now, probably from how fast all the blood in his body is rushing towards his cock.</p><p>“Well, not that one, that wouldn’t be all that hygienic now would it, that one’s yours. But yeah, I tested one out on myself. It was pretty fucking amazing.”</p><p>“Are you—do you have one in <em>right now</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, are we starting the phone sex?” asks Bucky, sounding like butter wouldn’t melt in his sinful mouth. He clears his throat and pitches his voice low. “No, I don’t, but I have been fingering myself, getting ready. I’m using my left hand, actually, because the fingers are just a little thicker.”</p><p>Sam groans and clenches his eyes shut. Bucky’s voice has gone low, sure, but his tone is still entirely matter-of-fact, and that’s somehow hotter than if he was affecting some kind of phone sex line schtick.</p><p>“That’s—uh—”</p><p><em>Jesus Christ, Wilson, get it together</em>. It’s just some phone sex. With sex toys that Bucky had specifically purchased for him and left in his bag in anticipation of this very moment.</p><p>“It’s okay if you don’t want to do this,” says Bucky. “We can get off the phone and have some solo fun, if you want, or if you’re not into sex toys—”</p><p>“No, I’m into them. And this. Uh, this whole situation, just—I need a minute, okay? You kinda sprung this one on me out of nowhere.”</p><p>“Well, you know the plan now. You in or not?”</p><p>“Oh it’s a <em>plan</em> now?”</p><p>“Uh huh. You use some of that lube, get yourself opened up, and go to town. With the dildo or the plug, your pick. And you let me hear you.”</p><p>Sam swallows hard. “And what’re you gonna be doing?”</p><p>“Well, I was gonna finger myself and jack off hearing your pretty moans, but I’m open to some improvisation here. And what with this being my first time having phone sex and all, I’m happy to accept any constructive criticism.”</p><p>Sam makes a sound. It is absolutely not a whimper, but it does, maybe, kinda sound like one. His cock is filling up already and his ass is damn near crying out with the need to get that plug in him and take it for a ride.</p><p>“You’re a goddamn menace, Barnes, fuck. Alright, yeah. Let’s do this. Just so you know, the traditional opening line for some phone sex is <em>what are you wearing</em>.”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m wearing <em>nothing</em>, Sam. What are <em>you</em> wearing?”</p><p>Sam puts his phone on speaker, tosses it on the bed, and starts stripping. “Uh, also nothing.”</p><p>There’s a huffing noise over the phone line, as if Bucky’s laughing silently. “Sure you are, sweetheart.”</p><p>“I’m <em>about</em> to be wearing nothing, okay? Like I said, you kinda caught me off guard here, gimme a minute to get situated.”</p><p>Once Sam’s taken care of all the unsexy logistics, and fetched the lube and the plug, he settles on the hotel bed, goosebumps rising on his naked skin.</p><p>“Okay, now I’m ready,” he says. “How about you tell me all about you using one of these plugs on yourself. You have fun with that?”</p><p>Bucky sighs, long and satisfied. “Hell yeah, I did,” he says, and proceeds to tell Sam all about it, in loving, filthy detail.</p><p>Sam works on opening himself up as Bucky talks, because that plug is kinda big and Sam is not risking the indignity of a phone sex ass injury of all things. As if Bucky’s actual words aren’t enough, his voice works its own magic, supple and ridiculously sexy with the way he talks just a little bit more slowly than you’d expect, like he savors each and every single sensual word. It’s easy to imagine everything Bucky’s describing, but Sam’s surprised by the ferocity with which he wants to see it, in the flesh: to see Bucky’s head tipped back in abandon, baring the long column of his throat, to see him work his cock with that miracle of a vibranium hand, to watch him writhe as the plug vibrates against his prostate.</p><p>“Wish I could’ve seen you,” Sam admits. “I bet you looked gorgeous.” To his surprise, Bucky’s breath hitches audibly, the first real crack in his composure. So Sam continues, “Wish I could see you now too. Maybe you could send me a picture, later.”</p><p>“That’s—terrible op sec,” says Bucky, but his voice has gone rough, a thread of wanting in it. Maybe Sam’s not the only one who likes to put on a bit of a show. </p><p>By now, Sam’s ready, his ass slick with lube and practically aching to be filled, and he asks Bucky, “So what setting do you recommend on this thing? From your extensive experience.”</p><p>“Hmm, maybe you oughta start out nice and slow, on account of how this is your first time using it and all.”</p><p>“I’m really not a starting out slow kind of guy, in case you haven’t noticed,” Sam tells him, and works the plug in, sighing with satisfaction at the feeling of fullness, before he quickly pushes the button on the base three times for the highest vibration setting.</p><p>This is, perhaps, a mistake.</p><p>“Holy fucking shit,” Sam says, in a voice that he’s distantly aware is embarrassingly squeaky. “<em>Fuck fuck fuck</em>.”</p><p>His body can’t figure out if it wants to arch away from the intense sensation, or push back against it, so Sam’s just kind of flailing on the bed, caught between the competing sensations of <em>too much</em> and <em>not enough</em>.</p><p>“Yeah, like I said, you might wanna try one of the lower levels first,” says Bucky, sounding distinctly breathless, and definitely amused.</p><p>“No, no, I can take it, just—“ The plug pulsates, the vibration seemingly spreading all the way from his ass to his cock, and he moans. “<em>Motherfucker</em>. Just—need a minute to get used to it. Oh my god.”</p><p>“You feeling good, sweetheart?” asks Bucky, the new roughness in his voice damn near touchable, even through the speaker phone.</p><p>And yeah, Sam’s feeling good, now that he’s getting used to the plug’s vibrations. It’s definitely intense, riding the edge of too intense, but if Sam just rocks back some more—</p><p>“There you go, that’s it,” says Bucky. “Let me hear you.”</p><p>Sam can’t exactly help the noises he’s making, and he’s past shame about it, too desperate, fumbling for the lube so he can work his cock with sloppy, rapid strokes that can’t go fast enough. After a few thrusts, the plug shifts and hits the sweet spot, a bright spark of impossible pleasure, and then it’s all fireworks, and not like he’s watching them, but like <em>he’s</em> the firework, a release that explosive and that overwhelming.</p><p>When he comes down a little from the very heady heights of an amazing orgasm, he works the plug back out before he gets too oversensitive, and listens to the heavy breathing coming from the other end of the phone line.</p><p>“Tell me you’re close, tell me what you’re doing,” Sam says, and Bucky sighs, long and shaky.</p><p>“Yeah, I am, and I’m—fuck, I’m jacking off, think about what I’d have done if I was there with you.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? And what would you have done?” asks Sam, coy and goading.</p><p>“I’d’ve watched you come just now, and then I’d have taken that plug out and fucked you, filled you right back up again.”</p><p>Any smart-ass response flies right out of Sam’s head, blotted out by the white hot heat of Bucky’s words, and Sam swears.</p><p>“Oh fuck you for saying that and not being here to deliver, Barnes,” he hisses, and Bucky laughs a little, a short and beautifully breathless sound, before he lets out a muffled moan, presumably coming now.</p><p>“Maybe next time,” says Bucky, after he’s caught his breath. “If we’ve got another successful mission to celebrate, that is.”</p><p>Christ, talk about a strong incentive for success. Forget about avoiding a lecture from Fury, a couple rounds of filthy hot sex with Bucky are definitely a better reward for a successful mission.</p>
<hr/><p>Sam’s not sure if it’s all the sex they’re having or what, but Bucky’s usual grumpy disposition definitely improves over the next few weeks. They still argue plenty, enough that assorted SHIELD employees always get squirrelly and scurry away whenever they’re at it, like they’re afraid Bucky’s gonna snap or something. Sam’s getting to know Bucky though, and he’s got a pretty good sense of Bucky’s limits. So long as Bucky’s lively and talking, light in his eyes and animated expression on his face—even if that expression is distinctly reminiscent of that one grumpy cat—then he’s fine and they’re good. And to Sam’s quietly smug satisfaction, it’s that light in Bucky’s eyes that’s been getting brighter and brighter, along with a curve to his lips that he can’t always hide away before Sam sees it.</p><p>It’s only when Bucky’s quiet that Sam really worries, and even then, Sam can almost always annoy him out of a dark mood. Petty and combative, after all, is better than the pain that still weighs heavily on Bucky sometimes.</p><p>Sam can’t help but wonder, though, if he and Bucky should maybe talk about this whole thing where they keep having incredible sex.</p><p>Because, seriously, it’s fucking incredible sex. They try the sex in the SHIELD locker room showers thing (late at night, obviously, because neither of them are complete idiots), and also they have some more fun with the sex toys Bucky bought, plus they fool around whenever their dinners together run late, and then there’s the celebratory we-didn’t-die sex after close calls on missions…basically, Bucky is some kind of sex Boy Scout, prepared for any number of sex acts and scenarios, and Sam’s totally willing to roll with that.</p><p>They’re fucking a lot, is the point. Like, so much that the bodega guy has started giving Sam vaguely impressed looks whenever he buys yet another box of condoms. Despite all the sex, some of which is at Sam’s place, Bucky never stays over, and he’s never invited Sam to his place either, not that it seems to impede his creativity in setting up opportunities to bang.</p><p>Whether it’s a consequence of Bucky’s libido roaring back to life after a long hibernation, or some lingering post-Blip back-from-the-dead carpe diem intensity on Sam’s part, Sam hasn’t experienced this kind of sustained horniness in well over a decade, nor has he had such consistently good sex with anyone in....well, far longer than Sam cares to contemplate. He should probably check in with Bucky, make sure they’re on the same page about this being a <em>fuckbuddies, friends with benefits</em> kind of thing.</p><p>Only Sam’s not entirely sure what he’ll do if Bucky insists this is just a coworkers-with-sexy-benefits thing instead. He doesn’t think Bucky would; there’s sure as hell nothing <em>business-like </em>about their sex. Actually, there’s something almost sweet about the thorough and attentive way Bucky approaches their dick appointments, even if he does run his damn mouth practically the whole time. But Sam can’t be sure of just what Bucky thinks, is the thing. So he really should clear the air, before they fuck something up beyond repair.</p><p>Sam means to initiate the talk, he really does, only Fury gives them another mission, and the prep for it takes a while, and then they actually have to go on the mission, and that’s definitely not the right time for a define-the-relationship talk. Maybe Bucky can somehow sense that Sam <em>wants</em> to have a define-the-relationship talk though, because he spends practically the whole flight out to San Francisco staring at Sam, until Sam starts to wonder if Bucky’s mad at him, or just, like, contemplating joining the mile-high club. Sam wouldn’t be opposed, but they probably shouldn’t risk the mission. Maybe on their flight back.</p><p>“What is with the staring problem, man?” Sam eventually snaps, because with all this staring, the mile-high club is starting to be all too appealing.</p><p>“Nothing,” Bucky says, all innocence, and finally takes a book out of his backpack, a thick as a brick paperback of some endless fantasy series or another.</p><p>Sam shifts in his seat, and suppresses a sigh. It’s gonna be a long flight.</p>
<hr/><p>Sam usually lets Bucky handle the logistics for their missions, because he’s indisputably good at it. Sure, sometimes they end up in some seedy safe house that’s decidedly lacking in amenities, and Sam will complain about it, but they’ll have all the weapons and supplies they need, and their covers will be close to airtight. Sam’s fully prepared for this mission to be one of those times Bucky’s got them holed up in one sketchy location or another.</p><p>Instead, after their flight lands at SFO, they take BART to San Francisco’s Financial District. Sam’s fully expecting to set up base in, like, some high-rise’s utility floor, one of those eerie spaces that houses all the ugly machinery and infrastructure that keeps fancy skyscrapers running. But no: their destination is a penthouse condo in one of the Financial District’s ritzy high-rises.</p><p>The view of the city from up here is pretty damn amazing, with the Bay shimmering in the distance and other skyscrapers gleaming in the sunshine. The penthouse isn’t at a Stark Tower level of high-tech luxury, but with its blond hardwood floors, brushed steel appliances, and marble countertops, it still radiates an undeniably expensive aura. It’s only when Sam takes a closer, longer look that he notices the fifteen years out of fashion interior design choices—that weird curvy couch, and way too many glass-topped tables—and the evidence of wear and tear on some of the furnishings and appliances. Even so, this is far and away the nicest place he and Bucky have stayed on a mission, and that makes Sam kinda suspicious.</p><p>“Uh, what’s with the luxurious accommodations? You find a bargain you couldn’t pass up, or what?” Sam asks, as he continues to survey the roomy condo. The floor-to-ceiling windows, Sam notes, make up for a lot of the outdated design choices.</p><p>“Easy rooftop access, in case we need an aerial exit or I need a sniper perch,” says Bucky, and then he puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders and turns him until he’s facing one of the living room windows that has a view of another, taller building. “Also, our maybe-an-AIM-front tech company is headquartered in that office suite right across from us.”</p><p>“Huh, no shit. Good call getting this place then.”</p><p>They don’t end up needing any of the condo’s strategic advantages though. Sam sends Redwing into the target building’s HVAC to do surveillance, and it only takes half a day to crack the case. It turns out the tech company just has a couple of AIM moles stealing their trade secrets and the company itself isn’t fully evil, or at least, it’s no more evil than any given venture capital tech startup. They bust the AIM moles mid-theft, and turn them over to the relevant authorities, all with three days to spare before their scheduled flight back to New York.</p><p>“We should probably keep an eye on these tech bros, just in case,” says Sam, thinking of the many restaurants he wants to try, and whether he can convince Bucky to go sightseeing at tourist traps on Fisherman’s Wharf with him.</p><p>Sam is <em>not</em> gonna look a gift vacation horse in the mouth, and he’s ready and willing to argue Bucky into joining him if he has to.</p><p>“Definitely,” Bucky agrees easily. “Gotta make sure we got all the moles and all. Redwing can handle passive surveillance, right? And I can keep an eye out until all these workaholics leave the office.”</p><p>“Glad we’re on the same page,” says Sam. “So, dinner?” he asks. It’s early yet, but they’d skipped lunch in the rush to bust the AIM moles, and if Sam’s hungry, then Bucky has to be starving.</p><p>Bucky nods and says, “Yeah, sure. Chinese, if that’s alright with you?”</p><p>“Chinatown’s finest, coming right up.”</p>
<hr/><p>It’s still light out, but San Francisco’s trademark chilly fog is just starting to roll in as Sam heads out to get dinner, and by the time he returns to the penthouse, the fog is lapping at the borders of the Financial District and Soma in one damp and cold wave. Even with a jacket, Sam’s shivering, the cold of the fog and the wind off the Pacific biting surprisingly deep, despite it being summer.</p><p>“Fuck, you would not know it’s summer out there, that fog is not fucking around,” Sam says when he returns with the food.</p><p>“Makes for a hell of a view though,” says Bucky, nodding towards the condo’s windows, and damn, he’s not wrong.</p><p>The layer of fog is a wispy sea around and under them, glimpses of buildings peeking through, but they’re high up enough, or the fog is low enough, that they can see the clear skies and sun above it. It’s like they’re flying over the clouds, or at sail on a pale and misty ocean.</p><p>“Holy shit,” says Sam, and he sets the food down on the kitchen counter without taking his eyes off the view.</p><p>“Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice,” Bucky says from the little dining room nook, where he’s setting out plates and silverware. “Speaking of, we can eat in the dining room like civilized folks for once, instead of at the kitchen counter or on a couch.”</p><p>“Uh, is there a particular reason we’re getting all fancy? This is Chinese takeout, man. It’s probably good, judging by the Yelp reviews, but it’s not recreate a three-star dining experience good. And is that <em>champagne</em>?”</p><p>“What, we can’t celebrate a successful mission?” says Bucky mildly. He finishes with the silverware, and picks up the champagne bottle, popping the cork with his metal thumb, the goddamn showoff.</p><p>“Alright, fair point,” Sam says, still suspicious.</p><p>There has to be a catch here. Hopefully it’s a sexy catch, but you never know, with Bucky. He’ll worry about that later though, thinks Sam as he watches Bucky pour the bubbling champagne into champagne flutes. And hell, it <em>is</em> nice to have a real sit-down meal for once.</p><p>Bucky hands him a glass of champagne, and tips his own towards Sam in a toast. “Here’s to a successfully planned mission,” he says with a smile.</p><p>Sam narrows his eyes, but he returns the toast, clinking glasses with Bucky. “To a successfully planned mission.”</p>
<hr/><p>It’s only after dinner that Bucky’s real game is revealed.</p><p>They’re sipping on more champagne in the living room, enjoying the view of the sun sinking down towards the fog as sunset approaches, when Bucky tips his glass back to drain it. It’s a gesture that puts the lean column of his throat on appealing and distracting display, so Sam almost misses it when Bucky sets the glass down on the coffee table and says, “Come to bed, Sam.”</p><p>Sam blinks at him, surprised. They haven’t really shared a bed except for that one time when the motel only had a single available, and this condo has two bedrooms, but maybe Bucky’s in a cuddly mood? Or is Netflix and chill on offer here?</p><p>“It’s kinda early, I was actually gonna—”</p><p>Bucky gets up from his end of the couch, and takes Sam’s glass of champagne, setting it on the coffee table with a decisive clink of glass on glass. Then he straddles Sam on the couch and kisses him, the heady fizz of champagne lingering on both their tongues until Bucky takes Sam’s face in his hands and kisses it away. Bucky only pulls back once Sam is breathless from kissing, and he gives Sam an intent and heated look.</p><p>“I didn’t mean come to bed to sleep,” he says, then he takes off his shirt in one smooth motion and tosses it aside.</p><p>“Oh. <em>Oh</em>. Okay, I see how it is,” says Sam, and ogles the lean muscles of Bucky’s bare chest. He lets his gaze drift lower too, to where Bucky’s Adonis belt is on tantalizing display, without shame.</p><p>Bucky grins, then stands and leads Sam to the master bedroom.</p><p>“Took you long enough,” Bucky says.</p><p>Fucking after a nice dinner, in an actual bedroom, is honestly so staid and vanilla compared to some of their other sexcapades that the prospect of it suddenly takes on a weird frisson of taboo. Though hell, who knows, maybe Bucky’s about to pull out some sexy handcuffs or something. Sam wouldn’t be entirely opposed. Bucky glances over his bare shoulder at Sam as he leads the way to the master bedroom, an amused arch to his brow like he knows the path Sam’s thoughts are taking.</p><p>One full wall of the master bedroom is just floor-to-ceiling windows, the curtains and shades left open to the view and the light, and as the sun sinks towards the line of billowing fog, it fills the whole room with deep golden light, limning Bucky like a full-body halo and making his vibranium arm almost glow at the seams. His dog tags catch the light too, glinting and gleaming, and the sunlight is kind even to Bucky’s scars, softening and blurring the rough seam where skin meets vibranium.</p><p>“Is someone in that building across from us gonna get a show?” Sam asks, his mouth dry, and Bucky smiles, slow and dirty.</p><p>“I’m thinking that wouldn’t be a dealbreaker for you, if they did,” he says, and Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “But no, the glass is treated: you can see out, but no one else can see in.”</p><p>And doesn’t that give Sam some ideas, mostly along the lines of Bucky holding him up and fucking him against the windows.</p><p>Listen, if Sam’s gonna be having sex with a super soldier on the regular, he’s gonna put those super powers to selfish, sexy use once in a while, alright? He makes a note to suggest it later, though for now he’s content to let Bucky undress him. He’s taking more care with it than usual, more gentle than his usual brisk efficiency, kissing Sam with slow and lazy thoroughness all the while.</p><p>They usually don’t take things quite this slowly, rarely have the opportunity for quite this much indulgent leisure. Or if they have had the opportunity, they haven’t taken it. Now that they’re taking advantage of the free time and privacy, Sam can admit that he’s enjoying the dreamy quality of the light, the way it seems to be turning everything into honey, slow and sweet, as the steady simmer of anticipation builds between them. Normally they’d be boiling to a flashpoint by now, egging each other on, but Sam’s content with this slow ratcheting up of heat. There’s an odd thrill to it, just as much as there was to all the risky semi-public sex, or the creative use of sex toys, or Bucky’s filthy dirty talk. It’s the sheer novelty, maybe, or the luxury of taking their time.</p><p>Once Sam’s out of all his clothes, Bucky just looks at him for a long moment, a kind of greedy wonder in his eyes.</p><p>“This light is doing some real wonders for you, sweetheart,” he says. “You look like some kinda masterpiece, you know that?”</p><p>“Oh yeah? You gonna paint me like one of your French girls?” jokes Sam, thrown off by the sincerity in Bucky’s voice and the appreciative intensity of his stare.</p><p>“I don’t understand that reference,” says Bucky, and then, with a sly look, he steps close and runs his hands from Sam’s shoulders and down his sides, to his ass, his touch firm yet gentle, and all of Sam’s skin comes alive with wanting in the wake of his touch.</p><p>“But maybe a sculpture, instead,” he adds, and Sam has to suck in a breath at the mental image of Bucky’s lovely, clever hands working on clay, or stone.</p><p>Bucky directs Sam to the enormous California king bed, stacking pillows so that Sam can sit up, and okay, yeah, Sam thinks he can tell where this is going now. He watches with appreciation as Bucky pulls his pants off, revealing his long legs and the tight black boxer briefs he favors before he slides those off too to reveal his half-hard cock.</p><p>“You need some help with that, baby?” Sam asks, and Bucky joins him on the bed, straddling his lap.</p><p>“Not yet,” Bucky says, and presses heavy against him for another kiss, the position putting their cocks in shiver-inducing close contact.</p><p>Sam takes hold of Bucky’s hips to hold him close and thrusts up lazily, content for now to let his desire continue its slow pulse rather than chase a faster tempo.</p><p>“Oh, I get it, you got this all planned out, don’t you,” Sam says between kisses, and Bucky smiles, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening.</p><p>With the light of the sinking sun filling the room, his eyes are almost the same pure blue as the summer sky behind him, and they give Sam the same urge to take a flying leap, to chase the thrill of throwing himself into thin air.</p><p>“Yeah, I do,” says Bucky, and his lips turn their attention to Sam’s jaw, then his throat, pressing thorough kisses to each spot. “You got a problem with that?”</p><p>“No,” Sam gasps, as Bucky’s lips find the especially sensitive spot just below his ear. “Just—ah—you wanna share any of this plan of yours, in the interests of teamwork and all?”</p><p>“Sure,” says Bucky. “I was gonna take advantage of this nice, big bed and ride you until you can barely see straight. If that’s alright with you, that is.”</p><p>“Fuck, that is definitely alright with me, yeah,” says Sam, his cock already starting to harden more in interest.</p><p>Sam’s been hoping something like that would be the direction this evening would take. He’s starting to feel downright spoiled, between the penthouse and the great dinner and the champagne, and now this.</p><p>“Yeah? I’m trying to be a sensitive and accommodating partner here, Sam, so I'm open to some improvisation and your feedback,” Bucky says, and with the way his voice has gone all low and insinuating, the bland corporate jargon sounds absurdly sexy.</p><p>“Well I do appreciate that,” Sam says, and moves his grip from Bucky’s hips to lower territory.</p><p>“You’re always real handsy with my ass,” notes Bucky, leaning back into the touch.</p><p>“What can I say, it’s so cute and tiny,” Sam teases.</p><p>Bucky narrows his eyes and scowls, and Sam grins, darting forward to kiss the tip of Bucky’s nose, which he immediately scrunches up in frankly adorable displeasure.</p><p>“Aww, don’t be like that, baby. I really do love your pert little ass,” says Sam, and gives it an appreciative squeeze.</p><p>It’s not like Bucky’s a small guy, but he’s on the lean side lately, clearly uninterested in bulking up, and he’s got this narrow waist that tapers down into his long and lithe legs. It’s his ass that Sam’s most delighted by though, pleased every time he gets a nice handful of it, his hands spanning most of the firm muscle as he kneads and squeezes. Sam’s pretty sure Bucky likes it too, because he gasps or moans every time, just like he does now, a flush rising on his pale chest and climbing up to his face.</p><p>They kiss and rock together without urgency, and it only adds to the night’s odd aura of luxury, as they let arousal build between them at a languid pace that doesn’t burn any less hot than some of their previous sexual fireworks. No, if they’ve been fireworks in the past, all fast fuses and bright sparks, this is more like the heat of a forge burning slow and steady, and still hot enough to melt metal. Every lingering kiss is turning Sam more and more pliable, making him burn hotter and hotter.</p><p>“You got lube handy?” Sam murmurs between kisses. “And a condom?”</p><p>Sam’s hoping they won’t have to get up and rummage around for them, and of course, they don’t, because Bucky really is like some kind of Boy Scout of sex, always prepared. He leans over to the bedside table and returns with a condom.</p><p>“Are you forgetting something?” Sam asks as Bucky scoots backward a bit to slide the condom onto Sam.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Lube, Bucky. Don’t wanna wreck that cute little ass of yours.”</p><p>Bucky looks up then, and gives Sam one of his favorite smiles, the one that’s all sweetness in the creases around Bucky’s eyes, and absolutely wicked in the curve of his lips.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he says. “I already took care of that while you were out getting us dinner. Got myself nice and ready for you. You just have to sit back and enjoy the ride, sweetheart.”</p><p>Okay, that’s—fuck, that’s a lot to handle. Sam groans, tipping his head back. “Alright, come on then, get to it.”</p><p>And without any fanfare or warning, Bucky does, sinking down onto Sam’s cock and taking him deep fast enough that Sam’s left gasping at the shock of the tight heat that envelops him. Despite this escalation, Bucky doesn’t pick up their honeyed pace; he sets a slow and rolling rhythm, his eyes on Sam the entire time.</p><p>It’s not like Sam isn’t aware that he and Bucky do an awful lot of gazing into each other’s eyes, and it’s not all childish staring contests. Sure, it’s a lot of furious glaring, a lot of the time, but a lot of the time they’re just—looking. Communicating, really, in the wordless way that’s come surprisingly easy to them. And it usually doesn’t feel intense or weird, but right now, with Bucky riding him like this, it’s a lot. Sam doesn’t look away though, because Bucky is <em>not</em> gonna win this staring contest just because they’re fucking, and Sam is not gonna give him the satisfaction of coming before he has to really work for it.</p><p>But fuck, Bucky feels so fucking good, and their rhythm is as perfect as any slow and sultry beat on the dance floor. Sam hasn’t really got enough leverage to do much other than hang on, not that he’s all that mad about it. He’s happy to keep a tight grip on Bucky’s hips and ass as Bucky moves up and down with seeming ease, no strain in the muscles of his thighs or his abdomen, and fuck, that’s some super soldier bullshit, but it’s hot as hell too. Bucky could keep going like this for a while, Sam bets, and the thought is too good to stand, especially when Bucky’s looking at him with such avid intensity.</p><p>“Are you not gonna touch yourself, or are you planning to come on just my cock?” Sam asks him.</p><p>“I’m thinking I’m gonna hold out til you come,” says Bucky, a flash of challenge in his eyes.</p><p>“Big talk from a guy who came in his pants the first time we fucked,” Sam retorts, and Bucky narrows his eyes and clenches around Sam, wrenching a groan out of him.</p><p>“You are never gonna let that go, are you.”</p><p>“Nah,” Sam says with a grin. “And I can hold out. I’ve got this great view to distract me, don’t I?”</p><p>“I <em>did</em> put some thought into the ambience,” says Bucky, his voice finally turning just the slightest bit breathy. “Nice view of the city, and the Bay, and this big soft bed…”</p><p>Sam had been thinking more of the view that’s right in front of him, actually: the flush high on Bucky’s cheekbones, his lips red and swollen from kissing, all his lithe and strong corded muscles on display and at such sweet work, the dog tags around his neck clinking gently with his every movement. But now that Bucky mentions it, the view outside is turning stunning too as the sun sinks lower and lower, tinting the fog a flaming gold color.</p><p>“You’re really spoiling me here, you know,” Sam says, then he shifts to avoid cramping up, and the change in angle makes Bucky moan, to Sam’s delight. “C’mon baby, faster.”</p><p>But Bucky just leans in close, gives him a stinging sharp kiss, and says, “No.” Then he keeps riding Sam at a mercilessly, luxuriously steady pace, and he keeps it up even as Sam’s shaking and panting for breath, his cock throbbing in Bucky’s tight heat, the pleasure of it now dancing along the edge of pain in a way that makes everything feel impossibly better. And the whole time, Bucky’s eyes are locked on Sam, a focus almost as palpable and heavy as the weight of his body, and fuck, Sam can barely stand it, he <em>can’t </em>stand it.</p><p>He takes hold of the chain of Bucky’s dog tags, and yanks him close for a kiss, savage and sloppy, every part of Sam straining for more, for deeper, until Bucky obliges him, finally picking up the pace even as he keeps kissing Sam. Sam keeps his hand wound in the chain of Bucky’s tags, a silent encouragement to stay close, to go faster, to keep making those perfect and gorgeous broken little sounds into Sam’s mouth.</p><p>In the end, it’s Sam who comes first, trembling, the force of his release strong enough that it’s like he’s been launched into the stratosphere, and when he opens his eyes to the gently undulating gold-tinted fog outside the windows, the whole sky aflame with the setting sun, it feels even more like flying.</p><p>Bucky’s working his cock by now, still riding Sam, still looking right at him with triumph and wild abandon and still, <em>still</em> all that <em>focus</em>. Sam’s never been the subject of so damn much devoted attention. It’s a surprisingly heady thrill, all the more so because it’s <em>Bucky’s </em>attention.</p><p>“Look at you,” breathes Sam. “That’s it, faster, let me see you come, baby.”</p><p>That’s all the encouragement Bucky needs, apparently, because after a few more strokes, he throws his head back and comes with one long moan, the hot spill of his release hitting Sam’s chest and neck.</p><p>As they flop apart onto the bed, both of them winded and shivering with the aftershocks, there’s no rude return to earth. No, Sam’s still gliding, soaring high on one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.</p><p>“Holy shit,” says Bucky faintly.</p><p>“Oh, was it good for you too?” Sam jokes, and then he laughs and closes his eyes, feeling something close to drunk.</p><p>Sam feels Bucky shift on the bed, and when he opens his eyes, Bucky’s leaning over him, his tags swaying over Sam’s face.</p><p>“Sorry I made a mess,” says Bucky, though he doesn’t look very sorry at all, more pleased than anything else. He also looks like he’s getting ready to get up, and maybe it’s just to fetch a napkin or a towel and dispose of the condom, but Sam’s not ready to let him go just yet.</p><p>Some odd tender impulse makes Sam grab hold of Bucky’s tags, gently this time, and press a kiss to the metal, still warm from Sam’s earlier grip. Bucky blinks, clearly startled, his lips parting.</p><p>“Buck, stay,” says Sam. “This bed’s too damn big for one person.”</p><p>To Sam’s surprise, Bucky doesn’t immediately scowl and reject the nickname. Instead, his eyes go soft, and the sweep of his lashes is almost shy as he looks down, a tentative kind of curve to his lips.</p><p>“Alright,” he says, soft as a sigh, and Sam pulls him close again.</p>
<hr/><p>They do eventually get cleaned up, and after a quick check on Redwing’s surveillance feeds, they head to bed. To Sam’s mild surprise, Bucky takes his prosthetic off, setting it on the dresser as casually as if he were taking off a wristwatch.</p><p>“Hey, you don’t have to take it off on my account, not if you don’t want to,” Sam tells him.</p><p>“I usually take it off to sleep. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, Shuri did incredible work. Half the time I forget it’s vibranium. But that’s part of the problem. I’ve smacked myself in the face with the damn thing when I’m half-asleep and trying to scratch my nose or something,” Bucky admits, and Sam chuckles. “Don’t wanna subject you to that too.”</p><p>“Alright, in that case, thank you.”</p><p>They squabble a little about who gets what side of the bed, but they settle down easily enough, and Bucky proves to be surprisingly cuddly, curling up close enough to rest his head on Sam’s chest, which gives Sam a pleasant whiff of Bucky’s expensive-smelling shampoo. As he idly strokes Bucky’s back, a thought occurs to Sam.</p><p>“I gotta know: did you really pick this penthouse as our base just to fuck in it?”</p><p>Bucky makes a deeply affronted noise, but doesn’t lift his head from Sam’s chest. “How dare you,” he mumbles. “I told you, I picked this place for its tactical advantages.”</p><p>“Right, right, rooftop access, line of sight, all that, I get it. But, like, you also planned this whole sex situation too, right?”</p><p>Now Bucky does lift his head, peering up at Sam with too-innocent eyes. “Well, yeah, of course.”</p><p>“Just like you’ve planned, like, basically all of the other times we’ve fucked,” Sam continues.</p><p>“Sure. We’ve got busy lives, Sam. We gotta plan this shit out.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” drawls Sam, skeptical but charmed.</p><p>“It's like any op: you need supplies, you need a location, you need logistical support—“</p><p>“Wait, logistical support—” Sam interrupts, incredulous. “Is that code for a <em>threesome</em>?”</p><p>“Things just go <em>better </em>with actual plans, Sam. Even sex plans.”</p><p>Something about the way Bucky’s waggling his eyebrows in that ridiculous way, or maybe his phrasing, stirs up a memory, and Sam bolts upright in bed, dislodging Bucky, who squawks with displeasure.</p><p>“Wait a minute, is this about how you think I have shitty and/or nonexistent plans?” Sam demands. <em>Things go better with actual plans</em>, Bucky had insisted, after the thing with the Thanos cultists a few months back. And then he’d gotten a somewhat concerning look in his eye, before he’d proceeded to set up a series of apparently intricately planned sex situations. “Are you trying to, like, <em>positive reinforcement </em>me into better planning?”</p><p>“That depends,” says Bucky, and props himself up on his elbow to direct a frankly unfair twinkly eyes situation at Sam, unaccountably merry. “Is it working? Because I feel like it’s been working.”</p><p>Incredulous rage wars with hilarity in Sam’s chest, which must make for a pretty funny expression on his face, because Bucky laughs, long and loud with his head thrown back and his nose scrunched up. The brightness of his smile is a match for the sun that had so gilded the fog earlier, and he’s shaking with mirth.</p><p>Sam’s struck kind of dumb by the sight, because, he realizes, it’s the first time he’s seen it. At least, the first time outside of a few looping seconds of grainy black and white footage, decades old, preserved in a museum like any other relic of the dead. It’s maybe a lot to deal with in such close quarters. In fact, if Sam keeps looking at it, he’s pretty sure he’ll go blind or say something dumb, so he grabs a pillow and smacks Bucky in his dumb, adorable scrunched-up nose face.</p><p>“It’s not funny, Buck!” Sam insists, with a few more smacks of the pillow. “You can’t <em>psychologically condition me </em>with amazing sex!”</p><p>“I’m just trying to model good behavior!” says Bucky, still laughing.</p><p>A feather floats free of the pillow and lands on Bucky’s face, making him sneeze. It’s the cutest fucking thing Sam has ever seen in his life. Also Bucky is still giggling and Sam’s heart cannot handle it. One exposure, and he already wants to hear this sound all the damn time. Sam’s a funny guy, right? Surely he can manage to get Bucky laughing like this more often.</p><p>“I’ll show you good behavior,” Sam says, somewhat nonsensically, before tossing the pillow aside and kissing Bucky.</p><p>It turns out that Bucky’s laugh tastes even better than it sounds, and Sam decides then and there that he’s gonna make sure it happens way more often. Like, every day, maybe. That's a plan Sam is entirely on board with.</p>
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